Black Dragon, Black Cat

by Brian Edwards

  Mao hesitated as she entered the house and thought about the ramifications of this conclusion. So her master was Black Dragon! A euphoric sensation swept through her body from head to foot, and she almost swooned from the rush of blood to her head. The realization that she had been living and training with Hei Lang all of these years almost overwhelmed her, and she could not believe the strange events of chance that had brought her to his house.

  She boiled the water and served the tea, perhaps more reverently than usual, then sat down in her chair and continued to think about the conclusion she had just reached. How neatly all of the facts tied together once this revelation had occurred to her. The teacups were empty before she realized that the ceremony had even begun, so preoccupied was she with the new knowledge that she had gained. She collected the service items, stored them in the corner pantry, and then met her hobbling master at the door of the house.

  Jai-tien slid the door shut, and then began carefully walking back down the path, leaning heavily on his crutch. Mao followed a few steps behind him, still thinking about Black Dragon and the secret behind his disguise. As the pair finally came within sight of the house, Mao was still obsessed with the idea, and decided to press her master for an answer.

  “Master,” she began hesitantly, “may I please ask you a question?”

  Jai-tien did not look backward, but said over his shoulder, “Of course you may ask me a question. Do you normally ask me if you can ask?”

  “No, Master,” she replied, “but I have a very personal question to ask of you this time.”

  Jai-tien hesitated for a brief instant before setting his next step on the dirt pathway. “And what is this great mystery you wish me to solve, Maome?”

  “Master,” she began, finding it difficult to spit out the words, “is it possible that you are Hei Lang?”

  “No, Hei Mao, I am not Black Dragon,” Jai-tien replied sternly, continuing his slow pace down the hillside without further hesitation. “Black Dragon is dead.” This he said in his firm tone that meant that the subject was closed, and should never be brought up again.

  Nevertheless, Mao doubted the truth of his statement and was still convinced that he was indeed Hei Lang. How else could he possibly know that Black Dragon was dead unless he actually knew Black Dragon? Hei Lang’s true identity had always been kept a secret from the world, yet old Jai-tien apparently knew it. How could he know this unless he actually were Black Dragon? Why was he not willing to admit it? What had happened to cause him to deny his past life? Mao continued to puzzle over these questions as they walked the remainder of the path down the hill, and eventually fell asleep without finding any logical answers.

  An unusually mild winter was followed by the annual spring rainy season, which seemed interminable and spread a gloomy mood across the valley. During the entire time, nothing would deter the daily routine of life from its predetermined course, even though Jai-tien was constrained by his injury. Each morning the chores would be performed, the afternoon would be spent training, and then the pair would hike up the hill for the tea ceremony in the house of Lu-chin. Regardless of the weather, Jai-tien would continue with his chores in high spirits, although his ability to train with Mao was limited by his injury.

  Mao began to concentrate on disguising her pain and distress to avoid emboldening her opponent. She continued to work on the complicated techniques that Jai-tien tried to teach her, with dramatic improvements. Even the difficult technique that Jai-tien had injured himself demonstrating was becoming more natural to her after witnessing the essential movements from her master. She was still not able to perfect it, but each afternoon Jai-tien would stand in the center of the training ground and allow Mao to practice on him. With time she became better at completing the body movements, although her aim remained poor on the ensuing hand and foot strikes.

  In spite of his previous statement to the contrary, Mao became more convinced with each passing month that Master Jai-tien was Black Dragon. One evening, as they returned from the house of Lu-chin, she decided to see if she could trick him into divulging his secrets. “Master Jai-tien,” she began, “your skill at the warrior arts is so vast, you surely must have been the greatest warrior of your generation. Why did you never compete in the tournament? Surely you would have won.”

  A slight smile lit Jai-tien’s face momentarily, but it was only from amusement at the girl’s clumsy attempt to probe his secrets, not from self-pride at the stated flattery. “My dear Maome,” he replied, “I did not find it necessary to compete in the tournament.” The tone of his voice implied that the subject was closed.

  “Again he denies it,” Mao puzzled to herself. “Why does he want no one to know? What is the secret he is hiding?”

  The final steps of the pathway home were completed in silence, and the two went to bed immediately upon their arrival back home.

  A testing

  By the end of spring, Jai-tien had removed his cast and pronounced that his broken bone had healed. The heat of summer brought a resumption to their training, with an unprecedented level of intensity. Jai-tien seemed to be pressing Mao, and himself, to the limit. With each day Mao’s ability to thwart her master’s attacks and to counter effectively improved, and she was rapidly developing into a ferocious competitor with the skill and spirit to rival that of her master. Jai-tien seemed more pleased and cheerful than she had ever seen him, and this elevated her mood as well.

  Mao awoke on a brisk autumn morning at sunrise and arose from her mat. She felt unusually stiff, as the nights were beginning to cool dramatically although the days were still rather warm. She sensed a silence in the house that she could not recall ever having felt before. She looked around the house, but Jai-tien was not inside, nor was his walking stick. She could not remember him ever before being absent when she awoke. She quickly changed into her day clothes, and ran outside to search for him, but after several minutes it was obvious that he was not to be found. Mao was very perplexed by this, and began to worry as to his whereabouts: it was not like him to disappear without warning.

  With naught that she could do to alter the situation, or to learn more details, she shifted her mind to concentrate on the upcoming day. There were still animals to be fed and chores to be performed. She decided to put worry from her mind, and trust that Jai-tien would return in good time. She went about her daily tasks during the morning hours, and her usual routine of exercises and training drills in the afternoon. Still, Jai-tien had not returned from his absence even after the evening meal had been prepared and eaten.

  Mao tried to remain unconcerned, but worry remained persistently trying to creep into her thoughts. At the appropriate hour, she began the long ascent to the house of Lu-chin, and performed the tea ceremony sitting next to two empty chairs. Although she tried to free her mind from the day’s exertions, her worries continually interrupted her peace of mind. Troubled, she headed back down the hill at sunset to the house of Jai-tien, but he still had not returned from his sojourn.

  That night as she slept, Mao was plagued with nightmarish visions of the fate of her master. Several times she awoke and reached for the comfort of the black cat, even though it had been dead for many years. She awoke after a fitful sleep well before sunrise the next morning, but Jai-tien had still not returned.

  Another day passed in the same way as the previous one. The morning chores were performed and the afternoon was spent training in the cool air of autumn, which seemed very strange without the watchful presence of her master. After dinner, she climbed back up the hill to Lu-chin’s house, and made the tea ceremony by herself for a second time. How strange it seemed to her to occupy the house by herself, and her concern grew greater until she felt compelled to leave before the usual hour.

  As she hurried down the hill, she began to discern a light in the house of Jai-tien, but she was not sure at first if her eyes were playing tricks on her. As she drew closer, she became sure that a faint light was shining through the back window, and she began to r
un down the hill with reckless speed.

  Mao burst through the door after her mad dash down the hill, but stopped short when she saw not only her master within the room, but also another old man with a wrinkled face and long white whiskers protruding from his chin.

  “Master!”, she blurted out immediately upon entering, forgetting the formalities of respect that should have been offered. “Where have you been these past two days? Why did you not tell me you were leaving?”

  “And to where have your manners fled, Hei Mao?”, he scolded her mildly.

  Mao hurriedly bowed to both men, with a mixture of relief and shame etched upon her face.

  “I believe that you have met this honorable person before,” Jai-tien said, opening a hand toward the other man. “This is my old friend, Master Chung Jun, who practices the Zhaojin style of kung fu. I have brought him here to observe your progress, and to advise me of gaps in your training. We are very lucky to have him honor us with his presence. He progressed very far in the Grand Tournament of Xiaomei several times, and nearly won the grand prize on one occasion.”

  Mao turned to stare at Master Chung Jun, who smiled and bowed deeply to her. She now recalled his face, and remembered her last conversation with him. She returned the bow to the visitor, and then turned to Jai-tien with her eyes pleading for more information.

  “It was necessary for me to leave hours before sunrise to travel to Master Chung Jun’s home, and there was no need to wake you. It took a full day to reach his home, and another for us to return here. I see that everything has been kept in order during my absence. How is Mother Lu-chin?”

  “She is doing very well, Master,” Mao replied, “but I think she was worried about you.”

  Jai-tien chuckled and then bowed to her. Chung Jun did the same. Then the two old men turned toward the back room without sharing a word, and took to bed for the night. Mao was left wondering about the nature of this visit, and had another restless night’s sleep.

  Autumn brought the north wind with it the next morning, and Mao awoke on her mat to a cold room. Her bare feet touched the floor, and she pulled off her blanket and stuffed her stiff legs and arms into her day clothes, and tied the blackened sash, which had once been pure white, around her waist. She walked into the main part of the house to find Jai-tien and Chung Jun sitting cross-legged on the floor in silent meditation before the corner shrine. She sat down as well and joined the ceremony.

  Afterwards, Mao began to sweep the floor while Jai-tien began his own daily chores, with Chung Jun’s aid, although there was nothing but complete silence between them. Several minutes later, Jai-tien began to speak. “Hei Mao, today will be a glorious day for you. Today, you will be tested by a master of the Zhaojin style of kung fu. I shall observe your performance throughout the afternoon. You are most fortunate to have this opportunity. Make the most of it!”

  Mao finished her sweeping and gathered her tunic around herself, then hurried outside to tend to the animals.

  After their noon meal of rice and vegetables, Chung Jun removed his tunic and changed into billowing pantaloons with the red and black markings of the Zhaojin style of kung fu. He joined Mao and Jai-tien, who awaited him at the training grounds. Mao marveled at the strong physique of the old man, whose face appeared to have aged seven decades or more. He was shorter and heavier than her master, and his muscles still rippled beneath the loosened skin of the aged.

  The afternoon training began with the usual regimen of stretching and strengthening exercises, followed by a light session of repetition of basic techniques. Mao noticed that Chung Jun kept pace with her and Jai-tien throughout these activities.

  Jai-tien called a halt to the exercises after an hour had passed. He walked to the side out of the main circle of the training area, and announced, “Now it is time for our test to begin. Hei Mao, you have the great honor of competing against Master Chung Jun of the Zhaojin style of kung fu. Show us what you have learned!”

  Mao’s heart jumped up in her throat. She had never sparred with anyone except her master, and the thought of facing Chung Jun intimidated her. She glanced nervously over at him as he approached her. He bowed to her deeply, and she hesitantly returned the sign of respect. He then raised his hands to a fighting position, and began to circle around her. She timidly raised her own hands, and slowly pivoted to remain facing him as he circled her.

  In a sudden flash of red and black, Chung Jun exploded into Mao’s chest, sending her reeling backward with tremendous force. She fell onto her back and her head hit the ground with a resounding thud. Nevertheless, she continued her backward motion and rolled to her feet, just as Chung Jun planted a kick to the side of her head, sending her reeling once more. This sequence of events transpired several more times in rapid succession until Mao was finally able to stumble to her feet and stagger sideways before the next attack from Chung Jun.

  A cut had appeared on her cheek from one of the blows, and Mao rubbed the trickling blood from it with her sleeve as she waited for the next series of blows from her opponent. He came back upon her quickly, opening his attack with a flurry of fist strikes of which Mao had never seen the like. Chung Jun’s movements and techniques were completely new to her, and she had trouble recognizing how to block or avoid them. She managed to parry most of his hand strikes, but was caught unaware by a sidekick to her ribs and again she fell backwards. Although the force on her back from the impact with the ground was very painful, she did not utter a sound and the expression on her face did not change: she had become very adept in the preceding months at disguising her distress. She rolled to her feet and again tried to block the series of attacks that Chung Jun launched at her.

  Mao was pounded continuously throughout the afternoon, and suffered from several cuts to her face. Chung Jun’s attacks were relentless, and she felt that she had little ability to defend against his flurries, let alone mount her own offense. She had not so much as touched her opponent with any of her feeble attempts, let alone seriously impaired his attacks. After three excruciating hours, Jai-tien called an end to the day’s training, and Mao collapsed to the ground and hung her head between her knees, panting and bleeding from the cuts she had received.

  Chung Jun bowed to her, and to Jai-tien, then headed behind the house to the well to wash himself. Jai-tien stood up, walked over to Mao, then sat back down cross-legged beside her. “How do you feel about your performance this afternoon, Hei Mao? Are you satisfied with yourself?”

  Mao raised her head and shook it briskly, then felt the aching repercussions of doing so. “No, Master,” she replied with a distressed voice, “I have done horribly! I cannot compete with Master Chung Jun. He is too good, and his style is strange to me. His style is too difficult to defend against, and my attacks are useless against him.” She hung her head back down between her knees, and felt the sting of sweat running into her open wounds.

  “Hei Mao,” Jai-tien replied, “I have fought Master Chung Jun many times. Therefore, he knows our style intimately. You do not know his. You must adjust to this fact. You cannot choose your opponents. There are many styles of kung fu, but until this point you have only been exposed to one. You must learn to adapt to whatever style you face. The Zhaojin style relies heavily on strength and stamina to grind down the opponent over time. Our style is not based on strength, but rather finesse, quickness, and strategy. Tomorrow, I will show you how to fight against the Zhaojin style of kung fu. You must pay close attention.”

  Jai-tien arose and strode off toward the house. Mao was left by herself, sitting on the ground, totally unconvinced that the strange style of kung fu practiced by Jai-tien could match up against that of the Zhaojin school.

  Jai-tien and Chung Jun worked side by side to prepare the evening meal. They ate at the outdoor table beneath the willow tree, with the brisk north wind blowing the fronds to and fro overhead. Mao cleared and cleaned the dishes afterwards, as the two elders sat in silence and gazed out over the valley. When she had finished, she bowed her head
toward Jai-tien. The two old men picked up their walking sticks and headed toward the pathway leading up the hill to the home of Lu-chin. Mao followed in their footsteps.

  The journey upward was very arduous for Mao, who still felt the aches and pains of the beatings she had taken during the afternoon. She could feel her wounds ooze through the thin cloth bandages she had dabbed onto them. She was weary and dejected about her poor showing during the day’s training, and she felt despondent concerning her abilities as a warrior. Finally, the hilltop was in sight, and with great relief she followed her two elders into the house.

  Chung Jun glanced around the room, and sighed heavily. “This is the first time I have ever entered this house without seeing the smiling face of Lu-chin,” he said. “I knew that she had passed when I saw the glow on her hilltop several years ago. I can sense her presence here, nevertheless.”

  Jai-tien walked into the side room, and came out with a fourth chair, which he placed beside his own. Mao went to the kitchen area and made a fire to boil water for the tea. It seemed that the water would never boil as she stood in front of the iron stove with aching limbs watching it.

  Finally, the tea was ready and Mao served the two masters before taking her own place next to the empty chair of Lu-chin. She instantly felt the warm and soothing embrace of the tea, and sensed the presence of Lu-chin within the room. She let her mind slip into the ether, and the discouraging events of the day seeped from her body.

  All too soon, the sun began to set and the tea ceremony ended. Mao collected the teacups and returned them to the corner table. The three then bowed their way out the door, and Jai-tien slid it shut carefully behind them.